


We'll Work On It

by Glitched_Fox



Series: 2017 BATIM Fics Upload [7]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, Impending Insanity, Implied/Mentioned Insanity, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Slight Mentions of War, empty promises, more like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-25 05:18:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14371734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitched_Fox/pseuds/Glitched_Fox
Summary: Joey Drew Studios is not what it used to be. But everyone has their quirks, right?---Takes place shortly after Henry leaves the studio.(Originally posted on November 27, 2017.)





	We'll Work On It

“We’ll work on it.”

Grant growled at this, glaring at Joey. _If only that was true,_ he thought to himself, _our finances are down the drain, there’s no way we can recover from this if you keep doing the things you’re doing._

And yet Joey continued in his eccentric ways. He bought another ink machine. He continued to pay everyone extra simply because they hadn’t quit. He added more levels to the studio, paid for plushies and soup that would never sell.

“We’ll work on it.”

An empty promise given to the company that shipped out the cartoons. It wasn’t Henry’s fault they weren’t meeting the deadlines anymore, yet Joey was oh so convinced that it was. 

They were being overworked. The animators didn’t know what to make of the storyboards. The storyboard artists painfully worked their way through a broken script. The writers were running out of ideas, writing down whatever Joey told them to, simply because they didn’t have enough time to brainstorm. And Joey himself… Who even knew what that man was even up to anymore?

“We’ll work on it.”

The only answer given whenever Sammy slammed on Joey’s office door and demanded that something be done about how distracting the ink machine was. Sammy stormed back to his office, collapsing at his desk with the pipes roaring behind him, wanting it all to stop.

His hands trembled every time he picked up his pen. He stared at the papers on the table, his mind as blank as the staff he was trying to fill in. His eyes were dull. Even when he found that wondrous sanctuary, he wondered if it was still worth working at this horrid workplace, even if the pay was so good.

“We’ll work on it.”

Allison gave a smile back at Sammy’s supportive voice. The song was a difficult one, but Joey had rather high standards these days.

Susie watched angrily as this _Allison_ took her position. As this _Allison_ was loved so much more than Susie herself ever had been. Susie was supposed to be Alice Angel, not ALLISON. Susie Campbell was the name that should be on the posters, not ALLISON PENDLE. No one spared a glance in Susie’s direction anymore and she _hated it._ Joey promised her she’d be useful again soon, gazing upon her as a possession and not an employee. If she noticed, she didn’t care. She just wanted to be loved.

“We’ll work on it.”

The band director told this to Sammy when he criticized the band’s performance. Norman watched silently from the projector booth, fingers tapping against the wood as he went over his options in his mind.

He watched as the members of the studio slowly devolved into madness. He noticed how Joey came out of his office less and less, how Sammy interrupted the recordings more and more. He couldn’t blame Henry for leaving, whether it was because he was drafted or otherwise. He didn’t mind as one by one, people stopped showing up to work. He envied them, even, but it was hard for a man with skin like his to find work in his day and age, so he stayed, despite all of his instincts telling him not to.

“We’ll work on it.”

Shawn wanted to yell it with sarcasm dripping from his voice at Joey whenever the boss said to sell more products. There was no way Shawn could just force people to buy the toys.

He saw why stuff wasn’t selling, though. The plushies were weird- he could say that, he made them- and the soup tasted like nothing and horrible at the same time. He didn’t understand why Joey had produced so much in the first place. Now the studio was in more debt than anyone thought possible, even if it was partly because of missing deadlines and all that. Everyone was so, so stressed and Shawn could feel himself starting to slip.

“We’ll work on it.”

Wally and Thomas reassured the others. Everyone came up to them, desperately asking for a pipe to be fixed or for a ink spill to be clean up.

The maintenance crew was unsure what to do. They fix something, and it breaks not a day later. They needed new supplies. In fact, the entire studio needed a full renovation, but they didn’t have enough money for that and Joey refused to acknowledge that his pride and joy was crumbling away beneath his feet.

“We’ll work on it.”

Joey’s muttered promise as experiment after experiment melted away right in front of his eyes. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it right.

He was doing everything correctly. He knew that. The symbols were drawn perfectly, and he didn’t stumble in the chants. Was it the character he was trying to create? The person he was using? Perhaps there needed to be something there. A connection. _Hurry it up, Joey,_ he told himself, _they’ll get suspicious and figure it out soon enough. Can’t have your subjects running away now, can we?_

“We’ll work on it.”

Henry wrote in a letter, replying to one of his old co-workers. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure he could mend his relationship with Joey anymore.

Henry ran a hand through his graying hair, hearing his name called from outside his tent. He grabbed his rifle from against the wall, shoving the letter in his pocket to mail on his way to patrol. He didn’t know what was happening at the studio, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He had never been so relieved as the moment he left that building, not bothering to look back over his shoulder. 

His letter got lost in the mail.

“We’ll work on it.”

Everyone said to each other, standing in front of the studio they worked at. They saw all of its flaws, and didn’t know what to do about it.

They saw the fading paint, the breaking sign. They saw the rotting wood, the jutting pipes. They saw all this, then glanced at their paychecks and decided they could stay another day. They sighed and shook their head, giving each other half-hearted smiles as the come and go.

It’s not perfect. It would never be perfect. It was getting worse, even. There was nothing anyone could do, but ask anyone there. They’d promise you they’re working on it. What else could they do?


End file.
